Slipping Away
by StruckByStars
Summary: There were a few happy days when Clara was convinced she could do it: travel with the Doctor and settle down with Danny Pink. Now that Danny's gone, it's all Clara can do just to keep sane around the Doctor, but when things start going wrong, who else is there left for her to turn to? (slight AU) (no series 9 spoilers)
1. Chapter 1

It would take Clara several weeks to realize that there was nothing the Doctor could have done. He tried. Of course he tried. It was what made him… the Doctor. He looked at her with his angry eyebrows. He raised his voice. Even after she'd betrayed him, even after she'd believed that she'd thrown away all the Tardis keys and cut off his connection to the rest of the universe, he still tried.

The Tardis didn't like it. The Doctor was playing games again, more of his dangerous games with time. The old machine had just about enough of paradoxes and explosions and his dangerous habit of bringing the impossible within reach.

Clara sat on the steps, watching the Doctor hurry around the console. He moved in straight lines, all urgency and precision, unlike his past self. At that moment, Clara would have given anything to see her first Doctor spinning around the console, laughing like a child. It would have made her laugh, and she'd have forgotten about Danny for a few seconds. That was all she needed: a few seconds, to clear Danny completely from her mind, and she knew that she'd start forgetting. She didn't want to. She didn't want to lose everything they'd had, but when the alternative was spending the rest of her life staring at the wall of her bedroom…

They landed more times than Clara could count, and each time, both Clara and the Doctor's shoulders sagged a little bit more. They'd landed in a cave, on the moon, in the middle of London, outside the school. On about the twelfth try, the Doctor dashed out of the doors and hurried back in, slamming the doors shut and taking off again before Clara could step outside. That hadn't stopped her from seeing out, though, and the sight of pale headstones dotting a green hill had sent her off to find a chair to sit down in.

Hours must have passed before the Doctor finally slumped against the console, looking more tired than he'd been since Christmas. He slammed one fist against the Tardis console, sparks flying dangerously close to his head.

Clara knew. She knew what this must mean, and the carefully constructed wall, the thin barrier that had kept her empty for the past few days, shattered. A heart-wrenching sob tore out of her chest, and Clara had just enough time to be surprised at the noise before she started sobbing, finally letting everything out. She'd been so terrified, her brain scrambling as it finally realized what the lady who'd picked up the phone was saying, and then there was the shock, seeing Danny sprawled out in the middle of the road. There was barely enough time for the guilt to set in before the nurse in the hospital had taken her aside and told her that it had been too late. She'd shut down as soon as she'd heard that, dialing the Doctor over and over on the way home, and now with this, this failure, this… confirmation that Danny was well and truly gone.

The Doctor's head whipped around, and he stared at Clara, looking devastated. "I'm sorry," he whispered, fingers flexing around bits of the console before he began to approach Clara. "I thought I could do it. I thought I could find him, bring him back."

There was a slight moment of hesitation. The Doctor reached out his arms, ready to pull Clara into his side, but Clara stood up abruptly. Without a word, she turned around and scurried down the stairs. It was a miracle that she didn't bump into something. she could hardly see through her tears, and she was completely distracted by the Doctor calling after her. It was almost as though the Tardis were guiding her down the hallway, keeping her from bouncing off the walls in despair.

That seemed to be all the goodwill Clara would be getting from the Tardis, at least that day. The Doctor and Clara had tried to rewrite time (again), which always frustrated the ship. That had to be the reason why she'd moved Clara's room.

"Come on," Clara shouted, her voice hoarse from having not spoken in hours. She banged her hand into the wall where her bedroom door had been, grimacing as pain shot through her fingers. " _Please,_ you stupid old machine."

There was a loud smashing sound from the general direction of the console room. Without another thought, Clara fled down the hall, inexplicably terrified. She didn't know how she could face the Doctor now, or anytime soon. Not after all that he'd done for her.

And not after she'd repaid him by attempting to knock him out and destroy the Tardis keys. No, Clara was sure that she didn't deserve the Doctor's help at all.

The library was still where it always was. Clara cried a little bit harder in relief, sending out apologies and thanks in equal fervor to the Tardis. She wasn't entirely sure where she and the old ship stood, but all Clara needed was for her hair not to be set on fire while she slept. The Tardis was welcome to hide anything else that Clara needed. She didn't care.

A large, comfy couch was still tucked away in a corner behind a large shelf, full of books that Clara'd already tried and failed to read. Clara collapsed onto the couch, grabbing the blanket off of the back of the couch and pulling it over herself. Bringing her knees to her chest, Clara closed her eyes. The light dimmed against her eyelids, and Clara held her breath, listening. The soft, mechanical hum of the Tardis, the only sound to be heard outside of Clara's breathing, lulled her gently to sleep.

* * *

Clara woke when her watch started digging uncomfortably into her cheekbone. She spent a moment rubbing at her face before Clara realized just how thirsty she was after crying herself to sleep. Standing up, Clara pulled the blanket around her shoulders and stretched, wincing as the kinks in her back straightened out.

 _Danny._

Clara's heart clenched, but it another painful sensation elsewhere immediately followed it.

 _Water._

The floor of the Tardis was cold. Clara couldn't remember taking her shoes off. Thinking about it now, though, she hadn't been remembering much that week. She shuffled along the corridor, trying to keep her feet on the ground for the shortest time possible.

"Please just let me find the console room," Clara whispered. She ran her fingers along the walls as she walked. It was her little way of trying to keep track of her location in the Tardis. The last thing she needed was to spend the next half an hour walking in circles around the library.

The Tardis seemed willing enough to oblige to this request. Clara found herself looking up at the console within the minute. Not bothering to look for the Doctor, she headed straight for the corridor where the kitchen should be. Clara was praying again that it hadn't moved when there was an angry shout and a loud, mechanical whine.

Clara froze, her mouth forming the word "Doctor", although nothing came out. The loud sounds came again, and Clara could tell what it was. It was the Doctor smashing things into the Tardis console. Just under it, Clara could hear soft noises of the Tardis's distress.

"Land!" the Doctor shouted. "One park! A few minutes! It's not exactly New York and the Ponds, you stupid excuse for a ship. Why won't you _land?"_

There was a snapping sound. Clara grew ever more still as a familiar lever flew down the stairs.

The furious pounding continued. It muffled Scottish curses and the sound of the Doctor getting more and more careless with his precious Tardis with every time he tried to land.

Clara had no desire to get caught in this scene, but the Doctor seemed almost as distressed as her. Because of her, because of her and Danny. Clara raised her foot, ready to go join the Doctor. She wanted to try and get him to calm down, but the throbbing had started up in Clara's throat again. With one last remorseful look, Clara turned away in search of her water.

* * *

 **Hi guys! I've been writing for a while, but I haven't really written any Doctor Who fanfics. I was having a conversation with my friends a few weeks ago, and they kept insisting on talking about ways Clara could leave the show. I hated having to listen to it, but I had this good idea and I just wanted to try it out (that doesn't mean Clara's 'leaving' in this story, it just means I got an idea for something that _could_ be completely unrelated). And, I mean, now that they've announced that Clara's leaving and also pretty much confirmed the way she's leaving (I'm going to be vague here just so people who haven't already had this spoiled for them can still enjoy series 9 safe from this knowledge), I figured there's going to be heartbreak anyway, so why not add to the pile?**

 **I haven't picked a day to update this, but it'll be at least once a week, probably around the weekends. This story is almost definitely not going to include anything from series 9 (which starts tomorrow, oh my stars yes), and it will pick and choose certain bits from series 8. Danny did indeed die, but I'm completely cutting out Missy and the Cybermen and etc. just because they don't fit with the direction I want this story to go.**

 **So... yeah. Let me know if you have any questions. Everyone enjoy series 9 tomorrow! I'll see you all soon with a new chapter. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like a few weeks had passed in the Tardis since Clara had watched the Doctor tear apart the console. In reality, it had only been a few days. Maybe, at most, thirty-six hours. Clara never knew for sure just how much time passed when she was in the Tardis. All she'd had to do was remember what time she'd left home, and then she was free to not care, to ignore the ticking of the clock while the Doctor laughed and spun and made jokes and showed her the world.

Clara spent most of her time avoiding the console room: she didn't exactly want to see the destruction that the Doctor had inflicted on his precious ship. She knew it was all because of her, and that made Clara's insides feel sour. There was another thing, as well: she didn't want to see the concern in his eyes… or the pity. Definitely not the pity. It would be another reminder that Clara had lost something important, another reason to break down crying, and to shut herself off. That small amount of time when she'd been completely numb to the world had terrified her in retrospect, and Clara has no desire whatsoever to return to that state

On one of her many trips to the kitchen, Clara saw a quick flash of familiar paint out of the corner of her eye. She whirled, clutching her mug desperately. Her room had still been missing since she'd gotten on board, and she could have sworn that she'd just seen the door appear, but now there was nothing left but a blank wall.

"Thanks, old girl," Clara sighed, turning and resuming on her trip to the kitchen. "Your sympathy is very appreciated."

There was a low hum, one of those sounds that the Tardis made that could have been taken as either a positive or a negative sign. If she'd seen the Doctor at all recently, he would have said that the Tardis did everything for a reason. If Clara wasn't already on flaky ground with the Tardis, she would have probably made a bit more of an effort in trying to get her room back, but since their relationship was now completely out of whack thanks to Danny, Clara felt it best to just leave the ship alone.

The Doctor had beat her to the kitchen, and was leaning over the stove as he frowned at something in a small pan. "Morning," he said gruffly, ignoring the slightly gobsmacked look on Clara's face. "I'm making breakfast. Do you want any?"

Clara leaned against the doorway, suddenly feeling rather faint, though it was probably just the scent of the eggs wafting towards her. "You're making breakfast," she said weakly, because even though, way back when, she'd often considered what the Doctor (or rather, his eleventh incarnation) would be like if he'd ever settled down and led a normal life, having the actual visual in front of her just seemed _wrong._

"Yes, I've just said that I'm making breakfast," the Doctor said, sounding cross again. "Can't you hear?"

"Of course I can hear," Clara said, sliding into her seat at the table. "It's just a little unexpected. The great Time Lord, making toast."

The Doctor made a weird sound under his breath. "I'm not making toast," he said. He snapped his fingers, shutting the flames off and found something to set the pan down on as he stiffly walked away from the stove and set the pan down at the table.

Clara pulled her leg under her, rising in her seat slightly to look into the pan. There were a few sizzling eggs that made her stomach whirl again, some weird potato concoction (the recipe for which probably from some unknown planet), and some ham.

"I'm not making toast," the Doctor said, looking somewhat proud at his attempt at breakfast, "but there is some bread in the cupboard. The Tardis is keeping it fresh."

"That's fantastic, Doctor," Clara said, leaning back in her chair. "Really. Thanks for trying, but I'm not really that hungry."

The Doctor groaned, walking away from the table and returning with two plates and some silverware. "I'm not having any of this," he said, raising a fork and waving it threateningly at Clara. "I've left you alone to do your silly human moping, but this is where it crosses the line. Have you seen yourself recently?"

Clara looked down at her front self-consciously, but didn't see what the Doctor was going on about. She was just wearing one of her usual black sweaters, but she had brought out a pair of jeans instead of her tights and skirt. Still, it wasn't enough of a change to concern the Doctor.

"Um," she said.

The Doctor laughed, though there was something off in his voice, kind of like he was holding back.

And he was.

The Doctor's throat was impossibly tight: it was a miracle that he'd been able to get any sentence out that day sounding halfway normal, but it seemed as though he'd succeeded, because Clara didn't seem to be looking at him any stranger than she normally did. She actually seemed as normal as she ever did, being his impossible girl, but there was that… layer of something over the _normal_ , weighing her down, pulling the corners of her lips down and clouding the joy and wonder that the Doctor normally saw in her eyes.

It worried him.

Clara wasn't supposed to be sad: it had tugged at his heartstrings, that day, years ago, when he'd gone exploring to try and find out the truth behind Clara. It had led him to that dreary day in the graveyard, where Clara had been standing with her father, sobbing quietly as she clutched her mum's book tightly to her chest. He'd been glad, then, of the tree that had been there to help hide his troubled face from the broken family, and then the Doctor had zoomed straight off to pick Clara up, to see her happy and excited and ready to see the universe. It had always hurt the Doctor to see his companions sad, but it pained him more with Clara. It was like she'd already been through enough before she'd met him, and there was something about her round, childish face that was unsuited to unhappiness.

The Doctor had gone looking for Clara after venting his frustrations out on the console, but she, and her bedroom, had been nowhere to be found. The Tardis was playing games with both of them, but the ship probably knew better than the Doctor that Clara needed a few hours to just digest everything on her own, so the Doctor had roamed. He'd spotted a glimpse of her a few hours before, rounding a corner with her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, and that small sighting had almost brought him to his knees in distress.

Her healthy glow had been replaced with a sickly tinge, and her eyes looked tired and swollen. It was in that glimpse that he'd first realized that Clara seemed smaller than she normally was as well, and it made the Doctor wonder just how well she'd looked after herself in the few days it had taken the Doctor to pick her up after Danny's death.

Not well enough, by the look of things.

"Eat," the Doctor said, shoving a piece of ham onto Clara's plate and thrusting a fork into her closest hand. "That's an order."

"I don't take orders from you," Clara said, pushing her plate away. "You're not my dad."

"I'm not trying to be," the Doctor snapped, sliding her plate back towards her and using the spoon in his hand to lift an egg from the pan onto her dish. "I need you to eat. You're turning into a stick and Danny wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

Clara flinched slightly, but today the Doctor wasn't going to let that manipulate him. "Clara, I'm warning you. I will shove this meal down your throat with my fingers if that's what it takes."

"Try it," Clara said, though one corner of her mouth tipped up in an amused grin. "Besides, you're one to talk. You're a bit of a stick yourself, always have been."

"You've seen every single one of me," the Doctor said. "You know that's not entirely true."

"Stick," Clara teased.

"Eat," the Doctor repeated, pointing his fork at Clara's plate. His face softened, watching Clara carefully. "Please. I'm not asking you this as your father. I'm asking you this as a friend. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks, and you're only human. I don't need you getting sick on me."

"There's the Time Lord I know," Clara said, making a face even as she pulled her plate right up to the side of the table. "Just concerned about whether or not his companions can keep up with him and his time machine."

The Doctor bit down on his tongue, fighting the furious remark that threatened to spill out of his mouth. He wanted to shout at Clara that this wasn't about him at all, this was about her and Danny, that stupid git that had managed to get himself run over in broad daylight. The only part about all of this that was at all about him was his failure to save Danny, but saving Danny would have been one paradox too many for the Tardis to handle. He wanted to snap and angrily rant that this was him trying to fix Clara, to help her mend her broken heart, but he knew that raising his voice would just send her running, and if she ran, he wouldn't be able to help her.

Instead, he clenched his fingers tightly around his spoon and watched Clara pull the ham apart in her plate, holding back everything he needed to say.

Clara reached the eggs and was about to push a spoonful into her mouth when nausea welled up inside her and she gagged, letting her spoon droop and the egg slide back onto her dish.

"Clara?" the Doctor said, standing up and scooting around to her side of the table. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Clara said, reaching for her glass. "Completely, honest. Just adjusting, I think. Eggs are a bit too much for me at the moment, dunno what you've put in them."

"I haven't-"

"Could I have that bread now?" Clara asked, looking down at the Doctor, who'd knelt by her side.

The Doctor frowned, grabbing her wrist and measuring her pulse quickly. He made one of his strange faces at her before getting up and moving over to the cabinet to find where the Tardis had left the bread.

"Fresh as the day it was baked," he grumbled, dropping the bag in front of her.

Clara smiled weakly at him, reaching out to get a slice. The Doctor slowly sank back into his seat, watching all of her movements carefully.

"What?" Clara asked after a moment. "You're scaring me."

"Your heartbeat is a bit off," the Doctor said. "Nothing to worry about, I shouldn't think. Expected, considering the mess of chemicals you are right now. I don't think you're sick, which means that you look like shit because you haven't been bothering, not because you're ill."

"Hmm," Clara replied, gnawing carefully on the edge of the slice of bread in her hand. "Thanks a bunch."

Clara continued to nibble quietly, and the silence was killing the Doctor. "Is that all you're going to eat?" he asked incredulously. "Just bread?"

"There's nothing wrong with eating just bread, Doctor."

"You're hardly going to gain any weight by just eating bread."

"Who says I'm trying to gain weight?"

"I say you need to. Listen to me. I'm the Doctor."

"Are you trying to fatten me up? Are you planning to eat me or something?"

"Or something," the Doctor said, and before the conversation could die out again, he added, "So, all of time and space. All the distractions the universe has to offer, right at our fingertips. I'm sure we can find just the thing to cheer you up. Where to, Clara?"

The Doctor waited, wondering vaguely what Clara would choose. There was that ice planet they'd visited a few weeks ago, and Clara had been absolutely rubbish at helping him figure out what was melting everything. She'd spent the whole trip complaining about how the cold was distracting her and numbing her limbs. If the Doctor were Clara, that's where he'd go to get his mind off of P.E. Or they could visit the Rings of Akhaten, a short hop into the future from when they'd left ages ago, just to see some familiar faces and make sure that everything was going as it should be. Or, as it had happened before, Clara would open her mouth and ask to be taken someplace 'awesome', and the Doctor would shoot her a grin (the grin hadn't changed very much: it was still as infectious as always to Clara), pat the Tardis, and carry them out into the far reaches of the galaxy.

"Actually," Clara said slowly. "Actually… do you think you could take me home for a bit?"

The Doctor sagged slightly against the back of his chair, one eyebrow going up. "Home?"

"Yeah," Clara said. "My flat. Earth. The day I left, preferably. My gran's still hanging about and I don't want her to worry. She'll get dad to bring in the army if I don't get back within twenty-four hours."

"That won't happen," the Doctor said absentmindedly. His mind was still struggling to shift from the furthest corners of the universe to Clara's _boring_ little flat on the tiny rock of a planet they called Earth. "A call for help of any kind from your address gets rerouted straight to UNIT. They're watching your address."

"Sorry, they're what?"

"What?" the Doctor said, snapping out of his trance.

"Did you just say that UNIT's watching my flat?"

The Doctor fidgeted, for a moment resembling his last incarnation. "I didn't say they were _watching_ it."

Clara sighed. "Home, Doctor," she said.

"Home," the Doctor said. "Yes, home. That. I can bring you there. No problems."

"I thought there wouldn't be," Clara said. She finished up her piece of bread and pushed her plate (still containing the eggs and a few bits of ham) towards the Doctor. "I'm going to get some of my stuff… if I can find my stuff."

Clara got up and started heading towards the console room. She paused by the door. "I thought the Tardis liked me now," she said. "Why is she acting like this?"

The Doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The Tardis… I've explained it before, she doesn't like paradoxes," the Doctor said. "It doesn't matter if that particular paradox will eventually resolve itself harmlessly. The Tardis doesn't like that chance. Saving Danny would have thrown her a big one: he's too close to both of us. If Danny were just some random pedestrian getting mown over, we might have been able to save him without destroying the planet. The Tardis doesn't like the fact that we kept trying to go after him even when I knew what would happen. She understands _why,_ of course, but she likes working out her irritation anyways. She'll be good in a while."

Clara made a disbelieving noise and left. The Doctor picked up the pan, sliding all the uneaten food into the trash. "Home," he repeated incredulously. "Home? All of time and space and she goes home?"

The Tardis made a laughing sound somewhere in the back of the Doctor's head, and he chucked the pan into the sink, frowning at the ceiling.

"Stop it," he said, but the Tardis kept going and going and going. The Doctor growled irritably and followed after Clara.

He was stalling, throwing levers and pushing buttons as slowly as he possibly could. He reached for one and realized that he'd torn it off, and winced.

"Could you?" he asked the walls, and the Tardis made a disapproving sound even as she activated all the other switches he'd destroyed.

The Tardis landed, the Doctor grinning slightly at the sound. River Song could go straight to hell for that one comment she'd made, years ago. The sound of the Tardis landing (with the brakes on) was one of the best sounds in the world.

The Doctor raised his head when he heard footsteps, and turned to see Clara standing behind him, holding a small bag. She raised it at him, smiling slightly.

"You found your room?" the Doctor asked.

"No," Clara replied. "The Tardis left this in the hallway."

"Good for her," the Doctor said. He swung his arm toward the doors. "We've landed."

The Doctor followed Clara over to the doors, and they peered out at the grass they'd landed in, staring up at the flats.

"What day is it?" Clara asked.

"The same day you left," the Doctor replied. "Within the hour. Cross my hearts."

Clara made an approving noise.

"So I was thinking that we'd swing by the shop and get something not-eggs to eat," the Doctor started, his mind running through the mental list he had prepared to stave off boredom at Clara's.

"Actually," Clara said, "I was thinking that it'd just be me, alone."

"Alone? Why would you want to be alone?"

"So that I can think without all of your timey-wimey getting in the way," Clara said. "It's distracting, Doctor. I'd like a few days to remember Danny without distractions, please."

"But you're not looking after yourself," the Doctor blurted, naming the first reason that came to mind.

"I will, I promise," Clara said. "I'll make something as soon as I head up. Besides, Gran's here. She'll look after me. I just need some time."

"Without me."

"Without you," Clara confirmed. "The universe doesn't revolve around you, Doctor."

"No," he said, "it doesn't."

"Good," Clara said. "No coming after me or sneaking around, okay? Just give me some time."

"Time," he repeated.

"Yes, time, you daft old man," Clara said. "You can swing by on Wednesday."

"Wednesday?"

"Doctor," Clara said warningly, clutching her bag to her chest.

The Doctor shook his head. "Right, sorry," he said. "Wednesday. Got it."

"And don't just pop off in your time machine and go straight to Wednesday," Clara said as an afterthought. "Go visit Mars or something before coming back."

"Fine," the Doctor grumbled.

Clara smiled. "Goodbye, Doctor," she said.

"Don't say that," the Doctor said. "It's not goodbye. I'll see you next week."

"Right," Clara said. "Next week."

Clara took a few steps away from the Tardis and turned around, as though expecting him to start dematerializing. The Doctor was still leaning against the door, watching her go, so she just smiled at him and kept walking.

The Doctor stood leaning against the doors of the Tardis, and didn't head back into his machine until Clara had disappeared from view. He sighed, closing the Tardis doors gently, and moved towards the console.

"Where to, old girl?" he asked, running his hand down a few levers. "I haven't chosen something just for myself in ages. Where do you think we should go?"

The Tardis dematerialized: the Doctor leaned against the console, ignoring the rattling of the ship until it landed again, and he spotted a familiar reddish glow outside the windows on the door.

"Really?" he said. "Here? You could have at least brought me to the planet. There aren't any people on a piece of orbiting rock."

The Tardis whirred again, before landing at it's final destination for that trip.

* * *

 **A/N: Here we go. I've worked it out... I think. This story will probably be updated every Friday, with the occasional, odd mid-week chapter, just because I'm ahead on my writing or it's a short chapter and there's no point holding it for a week.**

 **I'm personally not that fond of this chapter mainly because of the amount of times I go "Clara just wants to move on from Danny ASAP". Not really, I don't think. I mean, she wants to remember him and be sad about him dying, but she doesn't want to let that control her life, or just kind of shut everything down for her (and Jenna Coleman wins everything for the beginning of Dark Water because she just looked so frickin empty it was actually terrifying for me to watch). So just letting everyone know that I'll probably be coming back and reworking every time I say that, but it's not something to worry about since it won't affect the plot of this particular story.**

 **Anyone excited for the second new episode tomorrow? I CAN'T WAIT! Have a good weekend, guys :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Clara did when she walked into her flat was to start getting rid of her Gran.

"There you are!" her grandmother cried, jumping up from her spot on the couch. She rushed over to Clara, wrapping her arms around her granddaughter. "I was so worried."

Clara dropped her bag at her side, slowly putting her arms around Gran. "I wasn't gone for that long," she said, hoping that the Doctor had been right about when he'd dropped her off. There had been many instances in the past when he'd sounded completely sure about where and when they were, only to be caught completely off guard in the wrong spot.

"An hour!" Gran said indignantly. "Plenty of things can happen in an hour, young woman."

 _Within an hour, my butt, Doctor,_ Clara thought, pulling away from her Gran.

She headed towards the kitchen, in desperate need of some tea and solitude. "I'm fine, Gran," she said. "Completely. You can go home now."

"Fine?" her Gran said. "It's only been a few days since your man died. No one's fine in just a few days."

Clara winced to herself slightly, thinking that it had been more than a few days for her since Danny'd died. More like a week and a half.

"I'll cope," Clara said. "I just need some time alone."

"I distinctly recall you being a numb mess the last time you had some time alone," Gran said. "I don't approve."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Tell Dad I'll be fine," she said, "and go home. Really. You shouldn't be over here worrying about me. You didn't even know Danny."

"I didn't need to know him to know how much he meant to you, darling."

Clara swallowed, watching the water on the stove.

"You're… different," her Gran said after a moment. "You're not locking everything up anymore. That must have been one hell of a walk."

Clara smiled to herself, feeling the beginning of another round of tears pricking at her eyes. "One hell of a walk," she agreed.

Gran grabbed Clara's shoulders, turning her slightly. "You look in worse shape, though," Gran said. "It's like you've dropped ten pounds in sixty minutes."

"Oi," Clara said, swatting her Gran away and reaching up to swipe at her eyes quickly.

Clara finished making her tea and sat down on the couch, maintaining what she hoped was a stony silence. She kept her eyes fixed on the mass of photo frames by the window, uncrossing her eyes slightly just so she couldn't quite make out Danny among the mess of people. Her grandmother hovered, pacing between the kitchen and the couch.

"Fine," she said. "I can see when I'm not wanted."

"Gran," Clara said.

"No, really," Gran said. "No need to try and mend an old lady's feelings. I'll leave you to be a responsible adult, since that's what you seem to want so desperately."

Clara twisted on the couch, watching Gran pick up her purse. She'd shown up at Clara's door with no warning at all, and didn't seem to have thought out what she would have needed to bring for a long stay: she would probably have left on her own sooner or later. Clara was just speeding up the process.

"Eat," her Gran said, opening her front door.

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" Clara asked, putting her tea down and standing up to go lock the door after her grandmother.

"Who's been telling you that?"

"I'll call," Clara interrupted, knowing full well that she wouldn't. "Bye, Gran."

She shut the door before her Gran could say anything else and slumped against the wood, suddenly feeling inexplicably exhausted. There was something about sitting in the Tardis, knowing that all of time and space was waiting outside the doors, that kept one feeling quite awake, no matter how foul a mood she was in. Now, in her little flat in London, with clouds rolling in, threatening to rain for the first time since Danny's death, everything seemed quite boring again, and tiring. Horribly tiring.

Clara locked the front door, and, abandoning her still warm cup of tea, Clara trudged into her bedroom. She shucked her shoes off, changed out of her pants into some shorts, then fell into her bed for the first time in ages. Yawning, she pulled the sheets over her head, tucked her cheek into her pillow, and passed out.

* * *

There were three voicemails waiting on her answering machine when Clara woke up. She'd moved the device by her bed a few weeks earlier, just so that it would be easier to find out if Danny or the Doctor had called while she'd been taking a nap (but mainly the Doctor, since the Time Lord had next to no concept of time and loved calling Clara at one in the morning, when she was too deep in sleep to even hear the phone go off).

Blearily, Clara reached over and hit the first button she could find on the machine. Rubbing her eyes, she listened to the first recording: one of the shops a few streets down, telling her that a dress she'd ordered a few weeks ago had _finally_ come in. One of Clara's friends had called to apologize about Danny, and Clara reached out of bed again to delete that message before it even finished playing.

Clara hated it when people apologized when someone died. After all, it wasn't like they'd _killed_ Danny. The only people who had anything to apologize for were Clara, who'd been stupid enough to call Danny and force him to listen to something she hadn't had the guts to say to his face, and the idiot who'd run him over.

The sympathy and the apologies and the sad faces: they all bothered Clara. She'd seen so much of it when her mum had died. All of Clara's classmates had started treating her differently, shooting her pitying expressions and distancing themselves from Clara, almost as though they thought she was a bomb that were liable to go off at any second. All of Clara's teachers had said they were sorry, but only one or two of them had had the chance to meet Clara's mum before she'd died. None of them had really known her, and yet they'd all acted as though they'd suffered a personal loss.

Clara didn't want any of that with Danny's death. She'd been wrecked enough the first few days, and that, combined with having had to go through months of hardship after her mum died, made Clara determined not to mourn Danny more than possible.

"He wouldn't want it," Clara murmured to herself, tracing her fingers over the side of the bed Danny had slept in just a week or two before.

They'd been walking through London and had gotten caught in the rain, and they'd raced back to Clara's flat, which was a lot closer than Danny's. Both soaked, they'd stumbled in through Clara's front door, laughing so hard that Danny had to pause to lean against the wall and catch his breath, leaving a dark wet patch on the paint. The fun had worn off slightly when the rain continued to pour down, and Clara hadn't been able to find any umbrellas so that Danny could head home. She knew were they all were: she kept taking them into the Tardis with her, and kept leaving them in random places around the ship that she wouldn't find again for months, or having them accidentally destroyed in one of the many fiascos she and the Doctor found themselves in. She couldn't exactly say that to Danny though, and in the end, it hadn't mattered.

Clara had gone to dry her hair and change, and had managed to find some old shorts of her dad's and a large shirt that Clara had worn maybe once, alone at home, for Danny to wear. When she'd handed Danny the clothes, he'd noticed her shivering fingers, and once he'd ducked into her bathroom to change, Danny had insisted on trailing behind Clara into her bedroom, settling down on one side of the bed and curling up around her.

"You're cold," he'd said, kissing the tip of Clara's nose as she smiled tiredly. "I'm warmer than you. See how this works?"

"Yeah," Clara had murmured, falling asleep cradled to Danny's chest, the chill from the rain slowly fading away in his arms.

It wasn't very hard now to imagine Danny perched on the edge of her bed now, frowning down at her disapprovingly. He'd be so upset with Clara if she let his death ruin her life, even if they both knew that it was largely her fault. He'd insist on taking the blame- "It was my fault, Clara, I should have been watching the road and I should have told you to wait until I got to your flat to talk. It was all me." - and for Clara to just carry on as soon as she was able to.

"You'll find another man to love," he'd have said jokingly. "There are millions of men out there that outshine me, Clara, and you already know one of them."

He would have been wrong, of course. Danny was the first man that Clara had actually, well and truly loved with all her heart. Yes, there was the Doctor, but the Doctor was… complicated. It was a different love. One previously untouched portion of her heart had gone out to Danny, and he'd taken it with him to the grave.

Or would take it with him to the grave.

Clara listened to the last message on the answerphone, frowning slightly as it played. It was from the school, the principal telling Clara that she'd be free to take a few more weeks off if she needed to. The teachers had been better at guessing at Clara and Danny's relationship long before the students had gotten there, and everyone who worked at the school knew just how much the two had meant to each other. Besides, Clara vaguely knew that the Doctor had connections with the school, and she wasn't entirely sure who on the administration was on her side all the time, and whether it was by the Doctor's request or because whoever it was knew their own fair share of having been a companion to the Doctor. A few weeks would be a little bit too much time for Clara, though.

That is, assuming she could step into the building without tearing down her new resolve to try and move on from Danny.

They'd held a short little memorial for Danny the day after the accident. Clara hadn't gone to school that day, but the teachers had texted her about it, and the few students who had Clara's number for special tutoring had spread it around, and by noon, almost all of Clara's students were sending her texts asking after her wellbeing. Clara shuddered to think how many phones had been confiscated in classes that day. Clara had shown up to school for just a few minutes, just for the assembly, lurking in the shadows. She was sure none of them knew she had come after all: being the Doctor's companion meant picking up the ability to stand quietly unnoticed in the background. She'd managed to keep a straight face until they'd mentioned Clara's relationship with Danny, and the first tear since she'd gone home after getting the news rolled down her cheek, followed by a flood as she turned quickly and walked out of the deserted school. That had been the beginning of the complete shutdown until the Doctor had called.

The school was organizing another remembrance ceremony for Danny, now that they'd had a few more days to prepare. It was on the weekend, and would Clara be able to make it? She really had nowhere else to be, but it slightly cheered her up to hear someone caring about whether she had other obligations before whipping her off to attend something.

Rolling out of bed, Clara checked the calendar and traded her sweater for a new one. She peeked out of the window on her way to the bathroom: there was no Doctor outside on the grass. There was no Tardis waiting in her living room. It seemed as if, for once, the Doctor would actually wait until Wednesday to come and pick her up.

"Good," Clara muttered to herself, though she wasn't quite sure if she believed that little statement.

Breakfast was an actual struggle, and Clara realized with a start that the Doctor and Gran had been right: she was letting herself go. She hadn't realized just how small her meals had been becoming until she found herself unable to get halfway through her breakfast.

It was the Tardis, Clara thought, forcing another spoon into her mouth. It always came down to the Tardis. Keeping track of time was so hard inside a time machine, and maybe more hours had passed than she'd thought. Her eating schedule had been completely thrown off.

After finally finishing her meal, Clara downed two cups of water (staying hydrated had suddenly started becoming that much more difficult the past few days), and as soon as she left the kitchen, she noticed the bookshelf with the Post-Its and was stunned into stopping completely. With everything that had happened, she'd completely forgotten the original intent of the phone call, and her Gran hadn't questioned them or taken the little sticky notes down.

Clara stepped closer to the bookshelf, lifting the little square paper that said _Vastra_ off the wall. She found all the other Victorian ones, Jenny, and Strax, and the little things that had occurred back in that time, and arranged them into a neat little pile on one of the middle shelves.

Slowly, she began pulling each and every note off the shelves. Clara lingered over each one, remembering what exactly she'd wanted to say to go with it. She and Danny would have been on the phone for hours if she'd had the chance to really go through everything that she'd written down.

There was now a little stack of sticky notes sitting on the shelf, and Clara picked them up, examining the top one. She moved to the little trash can by her desk and extended her arm, but after a moment, she switched directions and opened up a drawer, pushing the little notes as far back as she could.

 _I love you._

That was the one sticky note Clara couldn't find. She knew that she'd written it down. She might have had it in her hand when she'd called Danny: maybe she'd brought it with her and dropped it onto the road accidentally. Whatever the case, it certainly wasn't in the room anymore.

There wasn't much to be done, Clara realized within a few minutes. Her days had normally comprised of teaching and grading, going out with Danny, and sneaking around with the Doctor. There hadn't been much time for respite, and Clara could barely remember what it had been like back when she'd actually had free time to treasure. She could understand now why the Doctor didn't like staying in one place for very long: he'd run out of things to do. He'd get bored and probably make something blow up. Not a good thing.

* * *

"Are you sure you should be back so soon?"

Adrian was giving Clara a concerned look, and he wasn't the only one. Every other teacher in the room was glancing at Clara whenever they came in or left. All of the staff working in the front office had gone pale when Clara'd walked in that morning, shooting them a smile while she grabbed her mail and assignments.

"It's only been a few days, after all," Adrian continued. His face twisted into an unbearably sad expression. "We all miss him very much, Clara. I still wait for him to walk into the staff room every morning. It's got to be so much worse for you, Clara."

"It doesn't feel like a few days," Clara said absentmindedly, sifting through the stack of papers and grimacing at a note that a substitute had left on her class's behavior. It had been more like a week to her, and a week shouldn't be nearly enough time to start moving on, but Clara was going to do it anyway. She was the impossible girl, and sometimes that meant having to make impossible decisions to do impossible things. "Besides, someone needs to be here to keep Courtney in place."

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be _you_ ," Adrian pointed out.

Clara had no response to that, so she stood up, gathered her things, and headed for the door. A slight hush fell as all the teachers turned their attention to her, waiting to see if she'd start crying, or break down, or do something that someone who'd just lost her colleague (who also happened to be her boyfriend) would do.

Ignoring them all, Clara focused on the doorknob, not letting her gaze flick to the spot on the couch that Danny'd liked to mark papers in, or the section of the wall that he'd lean against when they paused to talk between classes, in the one place they could without sending the student gossip mill into a flurry of activity.

It was all about remembering to not think about Danny as someone who wasn't there to occupy those spots anymore. That's why she was still here at the school: quitting and avoiding it would be a great big reminder that she'd left because he wasn't there anymore.

It was about thinking about him, but ignoring the fact that he was now sitting on a slab somewhere, waiting for the final autopsy report to come in so that he could be released back to his family for the funeral.

 _Funeral._

If there was ever a thought that indicated that someone was gone, that was it. Clara hurriedly pushed all thoughts of funerals and coffins and black clothes and morgues and graveyards _and dead bodies_ out of her mind, and didn't even notice that she'd taken a new and definitely longer and roundabout way to get to her first class of the day.

* * *

 **A/N: Chapter three! I have rehearsal for a play I'm in tomorrow for the _whole day_ , and it's our first weekend rehearsal, but basically what that means is that I won't be able to watch the new episode tomorrow. I might die. But so far series 9 is amazing, and let me know if you like this story! I may do a midweek update for the next chapter just because it's 99% filler... we'll see. Have a great weekend!**


	4. Chapter 4

This was one of those things that the Doctor should probably have thought out a bit in the time between the Tardis landing and him walking out of the doors.

He had a completely different face now, and while it wasn't something that bothered him after years of constantly changing bodies and appearances and personalities (unless it made his companions uncomfortable, which then made him irritated with the whole business of regeneration and with his companions for always taking too long to get back around to the fact that he was still the same Doctor, despite the minor differences) (and he still wasn't ginger), the Doctor often forgot that it was a bit weird for someone who wasn't informed about the whole thing. It would definitely be strange to show up here again few years later, looking like he'd spent a lifetime away since he'd come here with Clara.

The Doctor asked around the marketplace, but he just received strange looks from just about everyone he asked about the Queen. One of the more local people even threatened to call for some guards, and the Doctor had angrily ranted at him for a few minutes before scurrying off.

It was the eyebrows, the Doctor decided. And possibly the grumpy face. He passed a mirror and grinned widely into it before grimacing and moving on. Looking like he'd just happily murdered a house full of children would not help him anytime soon.

After at least half an hour of wandering, the Doctor wondered whether he'd missed any information. Maybe this little system had come under attack, and maybe the Queen had been disposed of. That might explain why everyone seemed unwilling to help him, considering all the gratitude they'd shown to him and Clara just a few years before.

The Doctor really hoped that they hadn't done away with the Queen. Clara had gotten to know the girl better, but the Doctor had liked her well enough. She was responsible, for someone her age, and didn't deserve to be put in harm's way for a position she hadn't asked for. It had already happened once, and no one needed for it to happen again.

In the end, The Doctor found himself in a dark alleyway, and he groaned loudly, sinking down onto a crate. It was a hopeless endeavor, he decided. The Tardis had meant well, but the odds of finding the Queen hanging about a common marketplace again had been slim to none.

The Doctor let out a string of swears in a long-lost language, and jumped when there was a muffled shriek behind him.

Practically flying off the crate, the Doctor scrambled back, pressing himself against the closest wall and swearing himself out internally for having such a fright over a small, human-sounding noise. On the opposite wall, a girl had sprung up from behind a small hill of boxes and was doing the same, staring at the Doctor with wide eyes.

The Doctor relaxed against the wall, recognizing the wide eyes, the blonde hair, and the red robes. It had been a few years for the girl, but the child the Doctor and Clara had helped was still there underneath the new years.

"Merry," the Doctor exhaled, almost grinning, but then reminding himself that he didn't do that in this body.

Merry raised one eyebrow, looking slightly scared. "Hello," she said. "Do I know you?"

The Doctor frowned, trying to think of something to explain the new body. "Ah," he said. "Quite. Well, you see-"

There was a loud clang from down the alleyway, probably a merchant someone dropping some of his wares, but the echo was enough to make both the Doctor and Merry spin around, the Doctor reaching into his coat and pulling out the sonic, just making sure that it wasn't something that they should be running from.

"It's nothing," he confirmed. When he turned back to Merry, the girl's eyes were fixed on the sonic, and seemed wider than ever.

"Doctor?" she asked tentatively.

The Doctor smiled. "The one and only," he said.

Merry made a small noise of disbelief and flung herself at the Doctor, wrapping her arms around his ribs. The Doctor made a small choking noise, stiffening immensely, then felt Merry's fingers curl into fists at his back. It reminded him of the way the children in Christmas had come after him, seeking comfort in their ancient, old alien protector, clinging tightly to the Doctor as war raged around them.

It reminded him of being a grandfather again.

* * *

"Where's Clara? Is she okay?"

The Tardis had brought the Doctor and Merry up to one of the many rocks orbiting the sun. They sat in silence for the most part, feet dangling over space, watching the universe go in circles around them. A golden pyramid shifted into view, and the Doctor saw Merry look away out of the corner of his eye.

The Doctor sighed: he knew, a very small part of him was willing to admit, that the Tardis had read that he'd needed someone to help deal with Clara. He wasn't as good with dealing with the grief of others as he should be, but then again, he'd always been horrible dealing with his own grief.

The Doctor had seen so many of his companions and friends come and go, over the years. He didn't know what he would have done if there had been no way for Amy to follow Rory back through the years. The Doctor definitely hadn't been there as much as he should have been for River, either, dealing with the endless grief of losing her parents and knowing things she couldn't share. He'd worked out later, after sitting down with some paper and a pencil, that there had been several moments in the past when she'd _known._ River had known that both of her parents would have the modern world and the Doctor seized from them, and she'd known that the Doctor would be absolutely beside himself, that he'd choose to withdraw from the world and abandon those who needed him. It had taken him far too long to work out the darkness behind River's eyes, the darkness he'd seen on trips to future amusement parks with his Ponds, the sadness as she watched her parents run and laugh and live their lives the way they were supposed to.

The Doctor had seen Rose Tyler's heart breaking as she flew away from him, the terror in her eyes when they'd locked stares in that one second between her being caught and carried away by her father. He'd seen the splinters in her gaze when they'd spoken on the beach, the other Tylers watching in the distance. They'd all been broken in their own ways by the Doctor and his meddling, and he hadn't even had the guts to try and let Rose know that, yes, he loved her too, before they were separated again.

The same thing the Doctor had seen a million times before was happening with Clara, and this time, he was determined to do something right. Clara wasn't going to spend the rest of her life crying over Danny, or refusing to feel anything at all. He'd find a way to keep the wonder in her eyes, and to help her deal with the sadness in the right way. Not the way she'd gone about it while he'd taken his sweet time answering her plea to be picked up, but in a way that would leave her heart and mind more intact.

The Doctor released a strangled groan at the task he was setting himself up for, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "Clara," he said thoughtfully. "Clara, Clara, Clara."

"Doctor," Merry said, more determined this time. "What's happened to Clara?"

"How many years has it been?" the Doctor asked, seemingly ignoring her question. "How old are you now?"

Merry looked at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye, before fixing her gaze on a far-out star.

"It's not been long," she said. "A few years. You could say I'm thirteen now."

"Ah," the Doctor said. "Thirteen. A good number, but I was hoping you'd say twelve. Twelve's a better number."

"You're avoiding the question."

"There's the politician," the Doctor grumbled. "Okay, Merry, I'm going to try and explain something to you."

"I'm a girl, I'm not _stupid_."

"Imagine there's this alien with two hearts from a planet that's gone away, and a human from a far-off galaxy from a little country on a little planet, from a species that's spread among the stars by now," the Doctor said, completely ignoring Merry's protest. "Imagine these two people have a box that can travel through all of time and space. Everything that's ever happened, everything that ever will happen, every moment in every corner of the universe, right outside two small, wooden, and probably permanently blue doors."

"I don't have to imagine when I've actually been in the box, Doctor."

"Say a small girl with a big role were to meet these two travelers. They'd help her out of a spot of trouble, give her a pat on the head, and then whiz off again in their big blue box. For the girl, a few years would pass. She'd grow confident in her position, get comfortable with the responsibilities and requirements that came with something she hadn't asked for. She'd start to grow up, and see the world with slightly different eyes."

"Doctor, is this speech going to go anywhere sometime soon?" Merry asked, showing all the impatience of the teenager she was becoming.

"A child will have grown up before she meets the two travelers again," the Doctor said. "For the travelers, it could have been any time from a day to a small eternity. While you've been here, growing into yourself, Clara's gone through so much more than any human should have had too. It feels like it's been decades since we've been here, that's how much has happened, though in reality, I suspect it's only been maybe a year or two. It's hard to keep track, when you've got a time machine that makes the passing of time somewhat irrelevant, eh?"

"So," Merry said, "what I'm getting from that rather long speech is that there's something not entirely right with Clara. Is she hurt?"

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "She's hurt in the worst way, Merry," he said. "Her heart's aching, and I tried, but I can't fix it. I couldn't stop it from happening, and now I don't know how to put the pieces back together."

"You're just like every other daft old alien out there," Merry snorted.

"Yes, thank you," the Doctor said drily.

"You said there was more than one thing, more than one thing that had hurt her."

The Doctor's mouth twisted oddly, then after a moment, he decided to tell her everything.

He went all the way back: Dalek Clara, Victorian Clara, how he'd been so confused and distraught and curious but hurting. The Doctor told Merry about how Clara'd almost been uploaded, and he told her how he'd brought her here on their first trip. He told her about the Tardis almost exploding and how he'd told her too much before being handed with the golden opportunity to make Clara forget that the day had even happened. The time stream, UNIT, the other Doctors, Christmas. The Doctor told Merry about his regeneration, how he's somehow forgotten everything. It had scared Clara more than she'd let him or Jenny and Vastra know. The Tardis had done some readings that were probably more invasive than they should have been, but they'd tipped him off that even after their talk in Glasgow (where he might have accidentally left her for a while) (he really hadn't meant to) (he'd _really_ gotten distracted), Clara was still afraid and not entirely sure how to accept that her gangly young Doctor was gone, and that he'd been replaced by someone who could easily be her grandfather.

And then the Doctor told Merry about Danny Pink.

P.E. and his stupid face and his overall stupidness that had had Clara falling in a heartbeat. She had thought that she'd be able to hide it, but the Doctor had known as soon as he'd encountered her in the closet with coffee that there had been _someone,_ someone else who seemed capable of showing her all the wonders of the universe.

He regretted now how much he'd shown an instant dislike to the man. In another (very different) universe, he and Danny might have been able to get along. Instead, he helped secret Clara away from the times she knew, and had started leaving her back on Earth with barely enough time to prepare to meet Danny after.

And then P.E. had gone and gotten himself run over. The Doctor told Merry, explained to Merry about fixed points and how seeing an event happen made it nearly impossible to change, but he told her how he'd kept trying anyway: he'd kept trying to find a place that meant that Danny'd still be alive in some strange version of heaven, and for a while, he imagined that if he succeeded, there was no way that Clara would ever leave him. She'd be left to rely on him and his Tardis to bring her to visit Danny. She might have been able to give up all of time and space, but she'd never be able to give up the men who meant something to her. The Doctor had felt guilty for that thought within another few tries, and once Clara had gone off the find her room, the Doctor had tried landing in the park, landing in the street, even materializing around Danny on the sidewalk, right before it happened. He'd even gone so far as to cut off cell reception to the whole United Kingdom, in the hope that it might prevent Danny from being daft and distracted while crossing the street, but it hadn't worked (and then he realized that without cell reception, Danny could have still gotten run over, but without the phone in his hands, there would be no urgent reason for passersby to call the most recently called number on his phone, and Clara wouldn't find out until it was too late, and he'd scrambled to fix the change he'd made). Both the Tardis and the universe had been going against him and Clara in that moment, and there was nothing he could have done to make anything right again. It had taken seeing Danny flung onto the ground for about the fifth time for the Doctor to finally give up. The one thing that made the Doctor feel infinitely better about the situation was that Clara had been there, in Danny's final moments. It might hurt her now, but it had probably made Danny somewhat comfortable, and Clara would come to realize that seeing him near the end would have been better than having to imagine what he'd gone through in the years to come.

When he was done, the Doctor realized he was shaking, and wrapped his arms around his ribs, suddenly feeling as old as he looked (and actually was). Merry was silent next to him, and that let him sift through all the thoughts that he'd just brought back to the surface. It hit him, the way it often hit him, all at once instead of gradually seeping in, that he had no clue what to do. There had always been an inkling, a small, possibly dangerous and impossible idea in the back of his mind every other time he'd found himself stuck. This time, there was nothing. Refreshing every moment that he'd known Clara made the Doctor realized that for the first time in his life, he had absolutely no clue what to do to help his companion… and nothing had terrified him more in a long time.

"Help!" the Doctor barked, jumping to his feet and startling Merry. The girl gripped the ground besides her, lurching away from the Doctor before remembering the emptiness of space beneath her feet and scooting away from the edge.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Merry asked, watching the Doctor pacing frantically.

"I don't know what to do," he murmured. "I don't know how to help her. Merry, help me help Clara!"

"How?" Merry cried, throwing up her hands.

" _I don't know_ ," the Doctor growled. He hadn't realized until that moment that his arms were flapping about, too much like his old self, and that prompted a whole new wave of irritation with himself. "You're a girl! Girls know things! Girls make other girls feel better- except, I suppose, when they're busy criticizing each other's clothes _but don't do that, it's not nice_. You should know how Clara's brain works."

"We're not even the same species, Doctor!" Merry pointed out.

The Doctor flapped his hands again, swearing at himself the second he realized he was still doing it. "Yes, and I'm an alien from a planet that doesn't exist in this universe who has two hearts and a time machine, and looks perpetually angry and sounds Scottish!" the Doctor snapped back. "Between you and me, I think you're probably better suited to the task."

Merry tugged at her robes, her face twisting. "I haven't seen her in years, Doctor," she said. "She was just someone who swept by, stopping to help because she saw a lost little girl where everyone else saw someone they depended on. There's been so many times when I've wished that she'd show up again, just because I needed someone to talk to who saw beyond the Queen of Years. Have you talked to her about all of this?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied automatically. Even as he said it, his mind was replaying every word they'd said to one another from the moment Clara had walked into the Tardis and tried to knock him out to when he'd left her outside her flat. He realized (another realization: he was on a roll today) that they hadn't, not really. They talked about bringing Danny back and how Clara should look after herself instead of just grieving, but they hadn't even touched the key issue with a ten-foot pole.

"Damn," the Doctor said, causing Merry to raise a knowing eyebrow.

"You left Clara without even talking to her about Danny?"

"She wanted her space," the Doctor protested, knowing that it was a feeble excuse. "Clara clearly told me that she wanted to be alone for a few days to think things over on her own."

"And you believed her," Merry stated.

"Of course I believed her!" the Doctor said. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because she's sad and tired, probably not thinking straight, in need of someone to show that she's still loved, despite everything," Merry said.

"She's got her Gran," the Doctor grumbled. "Her grandmother was there. Good lady. Might have scared her a little bit, but that wasn't the main thing on her mind when we met. She'll be looking after Clara."

"Doctor," Merry said, sounding as though she were the adult and he the child. "When you met me, I was scared, so I ran away from the people who were supposed to be looking after me. I needed someone to follow me, to show me that they cared, and I was lucky to get that."

"So?" the Doctor snapped, his mouth, as always, just a few steps in front of his mind. "Ah. Oh. That's not good."

"No," Merry agreed.

"But she made me promise," the Doctor said. "If I get there before Wednesday, she'll go mad. Clara' so small, it's really quite amazing how much steam she can blow."

The Doctor continued pacing with a renewed frenzy, trying to find the obvious thing he was missing. The easiest things were almost always lost in the grand scales of the Doctor's many plans, and it had begun to bug him every since Rory had walked right in front of his nose and it had still taken him minutes more to realize that the obvious thing he was missing _was_ Rory.

"I'll watch her," the Doctor said, planning out the area of London between the school and Clara's flat in his mind. "No… yes. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"She'll hear the Tardis from a mile away," the Doctor murmured, walking up to the Tardis and running his hand over the paint. "And Clara would probably be able to see it even if she went half-blind. It's the blue, I've found. Once you spend long enough in this blue box, everything blue starts looking a little bit like time and space. It's very strange, if you think about it."

The Doctor pulled open one of the Tardis doors, peering into the console room. "I'll have to park her somewhere," he said absentmindedly, mentally reaching out to his ship when he heard its sad whine. "Somewhere out of sight. Can't have UNIT picking her up anymore, Clara'll find out and it'll be World War Three all over again. I'll have to find someplace to stay. I wonder where Craig's living nowadays?"

"So you're going back to her then?" Merry asked, a small smile stretching across her face. "You're going to help Clara?"

The Doctor bent down to match the girl's height, uncharacteristically taking the child's face in his hands and planting a light kiss on Merry's forehead. "I'm going to make sure that she's safe," the Doctor said. "That's the best way I can help her right now, until I can think up something better. Thank you, for listening, and for the little bit of help you might have given me. Now, in you go. I'll bring you back home, and then I'll go look after Clara, and we'll be back within the week to see you again."

Merry shook her head slightly, stepping into the Tardis. "Is it bad that I don't believe you, Doctor?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, confused.

"These past few years, I've wondered," Merry said. "I've wondered who and where you and Clara came from. Very few men roam the universe calling themselves the Doctor and leaving behind the mark you do. I've heard the tales of the people in the marketplace. Once you visit someplace, fix whatever problems you find there, you almost never come back. It's been years for me: who's to say I won't be dying the next time we meet?"

"I am," the Doctor said gruffly, feeling the slight sting of Merry's words, because it was true. Other than Earth, he very rarely returned to the same place, especially more than once. "Merry, I promise you, cross my hearts, that I'll bring Clara to visit. You'll see us both within a few days, I promise. She'll love to see you again, and she'll be better."

The Tardis landed, and Merry smiled gently, moving for the doors. "I'll hold you to that promise, Doctor," she said. "Don't be too harsh on Clara."

"Harsh?"

"See you next week, Doctor," Merry said, and then she stepped out of the Tardis and was gone, swept up into the crowds of the market.

"Harsh," the Doctor grumbled, throwing a lever and ignoring the Tardis's laugh. "Trust me, none of you have seen _harsh."_

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back with another chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who left such lovely reviews on the past few chapters. It really means a lot to me, and I'm actually progressing quite well with this story (like I literally plotted out and outlined at least 3/4 of it in my creative writing class this week, which means I'll be able to keep to a more constant writing schedule), and I'm thinking of updating more than once a week now. We'll see though.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and enjoy the new Doctor Who episode tomorrow!**


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